Read our current issue by clicking on the cover below. Read Light‘s poems of the week
The Perfect Bracket to Win Your March Madness Men’s Pool
By Steve Bremner
“As in previous years, the Perfect Bracket intelligently selects upsets by projecting each
individual matchup from the ground up … Of course, you could also fill out 9,223,372,036,854,775,808 brackets
and guarantee a win in your pool by accounting for every possible outcome…”
—The Washington Post
Hackety brackety
March Madness analysts
Spin calculations till
They—and we?—drop.
Then again, many might
Find the alternative
Bracketologically
Over-the-top.
Off-Broadway Betting
by Marshall Begel
“[World Wrestling Entertainment] in talks to legalize betting on scripted matches”
—CNBC
We’re going to King Lear tonight.
I’ve ranked the daughters’ merits.
I’m betting fifty dollars that
Cordelia inherits.
The Best-Laid Plans
by Steven Kent
“NASA tracking asteroid that could ruin Valentine’s Day in 2046”
—The Guardian
From science, now some gloomy expectations:
In years to come I’m fated for frustrations.
All dashed, my hopes of intimate relations;
I guess I’ll call and cancel reservations.
I’m Still Aboard
by Dan Campion
“Meta to Lay Off 10,000 More Employees, Mark Zuckerberg Says”
—Variety
Who’s “Meta” in my universe?
I’ll keep my goggles on!
Dear Zuck will smile and fill my purse,
We’ll sail the Amazon,
Piranhas all around our boat,
But he won’t play the slob
By dunking me to keep afloat:
I still will have a job.
A Problemattic Situation
by Alex Steelsmith
“Code compliance official finds alligator in North Carolina attic…
‘The workers having lunch… kind of laughed at me when I told them…’
[the official said].”
—UPI
Happily, snappily,
skeptical contractors
saw the official as
someone to mock,
certain his finding was
non-crocodilian—
though they considered his
story a croc.
Munchily, crunchily,
lunch-eating laborers,
lucky they hadn’t been
chewed into shreds,
chewed on their sandwiches;
unmetaphorically
speaking, the story was
over their heads.
Finger Food
by Chris O’Carroll
“Enshrined in DeSantis lore is an episode from four years ago: During a private plane trip
from Tallahassee to Washington, D.C…. DeSantis enjoyed a chocolate pudding dessert—
by eating it with three of his fingers, according to two sources familiar with the incident.”
—The Daily Beast
Ron eats pudding with his fingers.
Where he touches, his mark lingers.
You may find his prints the next
Time you read a history text—
Book with yummy chocolate smears
Blotting out plantation years,
Shielding Florida’s white youth
From the unsweet taste of truth.
Working Title: Duke
by Steven Kent
“King Charles gives Prince Edward ‘Duke of Edinburgh’ title”
—The Guardian
Prince Ed will never sit upon my throne,
So he deserves a dukedom of his own.
The job description’s really not exact—
No work’s required of any kind, in fact.
(These titles we invent as we see fit
And tell ourselves the world might give a spit.)
Alien Ovines
by Jerome Betts
“A former [government] adviser… has sparked anger after saying sheep ‘have got to go’
from the UK’s hillsides. … [Among other things, he notes that] ‘Sheep are not native to Britain.’”
—The Independent
Yes, ban the toxic bleaters,
These woolly herbage-eaters
Not native to wet islands
But sprung from arid highlands.
Crank up the propaganda
And send them to . . . Rwanda?
Exposure
by Clyde Always
“Radiographic camera containing radioactive material still missing in Houston…
Authorities believe the device… was taken from a locker in the back of a construction vehicle.”
—Fox 26 Houston
A camera containing
some radioactive
material vanished
with nary a trace.
Good news for the bandits
avoiding detectives:
What’s highly unlikely?
A break in the case.
Monkeying Around
by Steven Urquhart Bell
“Great apes deliberately spin to become dizzy, say researchers”
—BBC News
It’s sort of what we used to do at school:
You birled round and round until you got
So dizzy that you wobbled and collapsed,
A helpless heap of giggles, on the spot.
I’ve never been nostalgic for my youth—
The passing of it doesn’t make me blub—
But if I was as unselfconscious now,
I’d save a bloody fortune in the pub.
(For more witty poems, read our current issue or visit our Poems of the Week archive)